Punishment
by Bryher
Summary: There are always consequences. ONESHOT ONLY.


**Title: **Punishment.

**Summary:** There is always a consequence to an action.

**Rating:** T for violence

**Author's Notes:** I couldn't sleep. This came into my head.

* * *

Birdsong drifted in through the open window, lifted on the chill breeze that cooled the air. Lena lay on the cot, gaze fixed on the blue skies and the resplendent trees in the distance, the fiery colours of autumn setting the remote hills ablaze. 

One eye was swollen shut, a myriad of colours from black to yellow colouring the skin. Her mouth, usually graced with a smile, was set into indifference; the ugly split in the centre of her lower lip crusted with blood.

A shout from the other side of her door, followed by a crash served only to make her eyes flick briefly back and then forward again, to the sky outside. Her arms tightened around her midriff, wrists bruised with deep purple finger marks. Her dress was darkly wet at the top of her right thigh, where, through the torn material, a long shallow gash was visible.

The door practically shuddered under Bors' fist.

'Lena? _Lena?_ Vanora is here. Open the door.' The usually brash voice was gentle where its owner's fists were not, dulled by the heavy door that kept the outside world out. The room itself was fairly sparse: the cot she lay on, a large chest in the corner by the fire, a washstand and basin… the only other item in the room was by the window; a simple affair, a t-barred stand whose usual occupant was probably out hunting mice.

Lena lay unmoving, her eyes briefly shifting to the door before returning to the tiny window. She could hear the voices outside, murmuring like the bees that Father Thomas kept in the hives by the church. There was no honey to be found here.

Another voice joined the chorus, though this time, it was enough to make Lena twist her head to look at the locked door.

'She is still in there, then?'

Bors' roar of anger seemed answer enough as the key slid into the lock, and the door swung inward.

Lena blinked tiredly. If she had the strength or the inclination to laugh, she would have. Bors, Vanora and Gawain stood to one side, while Brutus the healerman, Dagonet and Arthur stood to the other. Tristan, who had been central to the framed faces, strode into the room, dropping his sword belt to the floor by his bed and kneeling, taking Lena's face into his hands.

Lena ignored the rush of people that seemed to fill the room, focussing on Tristan's eyes. He bent his face closer, eyes holding her gaze as one of his hands left her cheek and began to tug her arms away from her middle. 'Lancelot and Galahad have gone to find him,' Tristan said softly, brushing her hair away from her eyes so he could see the injuries better. Dimly, Lena could hear Vanora calling for hot water and towels.

Dagonet stood over the pair, eyes dark with worry. Lena caught sight of Brutus over the taller knight's shoulder and croaked weakly, trying to sit up. Her lip cracked and bled once more as her panicked eyes conveyed more than words could. Tristan turned, waving the Roman surgeon away. 'Leave- she does not want you here.'

Brutus looked irritated. 'And how will she be treated?' he sneered, folding his arms over his chest impatiently. Moments later, he was pinned against the wall. Gawain leant down to make eye contact. 'She was attacked by Roman scum. You think she wants you here? Dag will see to her. You will go,' he growled. Brutus opened his mouth to protest, and received a thorough shaking, his feet dangling several inches from the floor. '_Now_,' Bors bit out from the other side of the room.

Vanora stood wringing her hands, eyes full of unshed tears. 'If I hadn't banned Demetrius, this wouldn't have happened,' she whispered shakily. Arthur, who had remained silent until then, murmured, 'He will be punished.'

Lena remained still, letting Dagonet inspect her wounds. Tristan stayed at her head, eyes locked with hers, hand smoothing her hair down as Dagonet's rough hands skimmed over Lena's still form with a gentleness that belied his size. 'The wound on her leg does not need stitching,' he said finally, standing. 'The injuries to her face and wrists are little more than threats- I believe,' he said quietly, 'that Demetrius was trying to frighten her.'

'A fine job he did,' Vanora cried, tears finally brimming over. 'Look at her! She's…' Bors gathered up the mother of his bastards in his arms, pressing her face to his chest as she sobbed.

A servant boy came in, balancing a large bowl of warm water in his hands, followed by another with towels and bandages. Arthur cleared his throat. 'We should allow Lena privacy while-' he gestured to the bowl and bandages with his hand. Vanora almost ran out, followed closely by Bors. Gawain patted her ankle awkwardly before following his brother in arms. Arthur nodded to Dagonet. 'I'll make sure Demetrius is punished, Lena,' he said softly, closing the door softly behind him.

Tristan watched as Dagonet wrung out the bandages, preparing smaller ones to wrap around Lena's leg. Her eyes had returned to the window, gaze blank.

He stood suddenly. 'I'll do it,' he murmured, striding to the door and pulling it open, standing to one side to allow the larger man to pass. 'I'll see to her.'

Dagonet said nothing, merely placed the cloth near Lena's head, giving the girl a gentle kiss on the forehead before leaving, his footsteps padding away down the corridor.

Tristan worked quickly and efficiently, cleaning blood away and binding the long wound on her led with a deftness that came from years of battle-field medicine. Her face he was gentle with, cleaning away the tear-tracks and blood. One damp cloth he left to chill on the windowsill before laying it gently over her swollen eye.

Lena remained silent, eyes dull.

After he had finished, he picked her up, cradling her in his arms and pushed the heavy furs on his cot back with his foot. Setting her down in the warmth, Tristan tucked her in, settling down on the floor so he was down to her level.

She blinked, looking at him. 'Cold,' she said quietly. The scout stood, lifting the covers so that he could slide in beside her, wrapping her up in his arms.

'Better?' he asked. Lena nodded, closed her eyes and slept.

* * *

Hours later, a soft knock at the door stirred Tristan from the semi-doze he had drifted into. Lena slept in his arms, chest rising and falling steadily. The door creaked open to reveal Galahad. The youngest knight padded noiselessly over to the cot, reaching one hand out to run a finger down Lena's cheek. 'She alright?' he asked quietly. 

Tristan shook his head. 'Shock,' he replied just as softly.

'We found Demetrius,' Galahad whispered. 'He's denying everything despite being caught in the act.'

'I'm not surprised,' Tristan growled, arms tightening a fraction around the young woman in his arms. 'What is Arthur going to do?'

'Public lashing, a fine and a month's docked pay,' the younger man answered, looking irritated. 'He'll only come after her again in revenge,' he muttered in agitation, running a hand through his curls.

Tristan grunted in agreement. 'It's not enough- he needs a true warning.' Lena stirred suddenly, a tiny whine escaping her as her brow creased. Galahad took as step back, as though he himself were the cause of her discontent. 'She dreams,' Tristan whispered, pulling her closer. 'We cannot save her from that.'

Galahad frowned pityingly at the woman, then his face cleared. 'I have an idea,' he murmured.

* * *

The cell door swung open, torchlight flooding the medium sized room. Demetrius blinked in the sudden brightness, his manacles preventing him from moving from the wall. One by one, the knights filed in, carrying an assortment of weapons. 

'Now then,' Bors said loudly, 'you're going to tell us why you deserve to live.'

The Roman promptly soiled himself.

If the jailer heard Demetrius' pleas for help, he gave no sign of it. The bag of coins that had somehow found their way into his pocket seemed to have temporarily rendered him deaf.

The Roman cowered in the corner. 'Don't kill me,' he sobbed, shaking. 'I was drunk…I-I didn't know what I was doing- _no don't do that_,' he shrieked, scrabbling further back as Tristan flicked his blade around, slicing off a curl of hair.

'This is what will happen,' Gawain said, voice like silken steel. 'You will serve your punishment, and then you will desert the army.'

Demetrius' face dropped. 'I- I can't d-do that,' he whined, eyes wide. 'They'll kill me!'

The stony silence that met this statement said enough. 'But- y-you can't- I-'

'If you don't, you will certainly die. It will be slow,' Galahad growled: 'It will be painful,' Lancelot added: 'And you will wish that the Romans had caught up with you first,' Bors finished.

They left the man trembling and crying, the light they had brought with them closed off by the heavy door.

* * *

Lena frowned as Tristan slipped back into his room, closing the door softly. Her questioning gaze followed him as he crossed the room to the cot, sliding back into the warmth with her. 'It's been dealt with,' he murmured into her ear as the birds continued their song into the sunset outside.

* * *

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